


A Problematic Fic Catcher

by dustyknife (orphan_account)



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dustyknife
Summary: it's like a dream catcher but for ships





	1. Flowers (Reupload)

Papyrus closes the front door with his foot as he steps inside his humble home, shuffling out of his coat and scarf and tossing them onto the couch. He stomps snow from his boots and sighs, running a hand down his face.

It’d been a long day; trying to remember what to say and when to say it so as not to give away that he’s been through this day before, talking with Flowey despite knowing that doing so does nothing but encourage the tiny flower’s ways further, training four hours on end with Undyne even though he knows she won’t let him into the Royal Guard. He’d tripped on his way back from Waterfall and knocked over Muffet’s fresh supply of pastries, which then led to an hour-long apology that ended in him spending a small fortune on wet food.

Sans is probably going to kill him for that.

It all took a toll on him, sapping him of his energy and most of his wits, leaving him both mentally and physically exhausted with aching bones and a headache rattling in his skull.

Well, at least the house is quiet.

His stomach growls.

…And has food. Had he even eaten today? He can’t remember.

Walking into the kitchen, mind focused on nothing but the leftover pasta in the fridge, he stops, noticing something off.

There, sitting on the counter, is a small bouquet of flowers, seated gently in a glass vase. Echo flowers bloom out from it, glowing a faint blue in the kitchen’s poor lighting and whispering soft words into the air.

He pauses, eyes narrowing. This has to be a prank, he decides; Sans had been on a streak lately, setting up traps around the house for him to wander into (some were deserved—others were not). Surely, a gesture like getting him flowers had to be leading to some kind of bucket of water or feather-dumping trick down the road.

Still. It was better to get it done and over with now rather than later.

Looking around for any wires or magic bombs (Sans is fond of those), he deflates, finding nothing else out of the ordinary. He steps forward, leaning forward and listening in.

“Hey, bro,” the flowers whisper. A smile crosses his face at the sound of his brother’s laid-back voice, so calm and quiet compared to how energetic and loud he tends to be. Complete opposites, everyone says, but fit together like a glove. “I know today’s a rough day and all for you, so I thought I’d get you some of these. Kinda sappy, but thought it’d work out considering I have to work tonight. Have a conversation with it or somethin’—I dunno, you seem fond of making friends outta flowers.

“Love you. See you when I get home.”

Tears fill his eyes. How sweet of him. And here Papyrus was, thinking the worst—

“Also, I glued your door shut. Hope you don’t mind—we’re sharin’ a bed tonight.”

He’s going to kill him.


	2. flustered

They walk down the crooked, broken steps, hand pressed to the wall and a quiet sigh escaping their chest. They’ve made this walk a thousand times before; having committed the path to memory. They hold themselves taller than they used to, jawline set and eyes blazing with determination, familiarity boosting their confidence as they walk down the dark and eerie stairs to the lower prisons. Even with how many times they’ve come down this way, they can’t shake a sense of foreboding, like something terrible is about to happen.

But then, like they always do, they reach the end of the steps and see him, and everything in their chest calms.

Jevil perks up at the sight of them walking down the steps, a smile already in place, “Ah, a visitor, a visitor! Welcome back, hero!”

Kris smiles sadly at him. They’ve been visiting him for months now; talking with him, playing games, keeping him company. It’s the least they can do after denying his offer to fight him, and what little they can do to make his imprisonment less lonely. Lancer had allowed it; being the new king and their friend, his words were like written law set in stone.

“Yeah, go ahead!” They remember him saying. “Dad might’ve forgotten about him, but hey, we don’t have to!”

So here they are, standing before him now, staring into the blank, empty eyes of a Darkner so deprived of outside contact that his mind has permanently shattered.

He bounces on his tail, the tiny springs within letting out soft sounds of protest, the monster leans forward, his hands reaching through the bars for them, “It’s been too long, too long, my friend! How have your travels been?”

Taking one of his hands in theirs, they give him a slight pat, shrugging their shoulders. They peek into his dark, empty cell, eyebrows furrowed, more interested in what lays beyond than anything else.

Jevil follows their gaze, humming. “Interested in my little freedom?” he asks with a smirk.

Again, they shrug. They let his hand go, not missing how his smile wilts from the lack of touch.

“See, see, I can share some of it with you!” He says suddenly, his words rushed. For a moment, his expression clears, and he shakes his head as though scolding himself, “It would require a quick game of sorts, of sorts! Are you interested?”

Immediately, they nod. Anything to learn more about their mysterious friend.

Jevil chuckles. “A fool, a fool! A fool are you! Why else would you agree so quickly?”

“It’s just a game,” they murmur, scrunching up their nose. “We’ve played those before.”

“Ah, but only a fool would agree to a game without knowing the rules!”

Kris sighs. “Fine,” they say softly in a hoarse, quiet tone, “I am a fool. Tell me what to do.”

Jevil all but beams. Waving a hand in the air, he says, “Sit still, sit still, and close your eyes!”

Kris kneels in front of the small jail cell, closing their eyes.

Their eyelids fly open when they feel lips press against theirs, grip tightening against the bars. It’s a quick peck; only for a few seconds at most. Their mind recognizes the softness of his lips, the slight taste of mint and cake on their tongue, the slightest brush of fingertips against theirs.

It’s confusing.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s exciting.

When the jester pulls away, he grins, chuckling to himself. A light, purple hue dusts over his cheeks. “Well,” he says, “that was something!”

They can’t speak.

“Ho, ho, ho! Seems the human’s tongue-tied, tongue-tied!” Jevil claps his hands, leaning back on his springy tail. His eyes practically glow as he looks at them. “It’s a fitting look for a fool. What’s say you, you?”

All they can do is stare. Kris lifts a gentle hand to their lips, gaze locked with his. Then, softly, they say, “This fool would like it if you bewitched them again.”

Jevil’s grin stretches far and wide, “Perhaps I shall.”


End file.
